A Taste for Scandal (16 page)

Guests? Richard had a sinking feeling he knew exactly where this was headed. “Well, then, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your company.”

“No, please,” she said, grabbing his sleeve when he started forward. “Could you visit with them for a moment or two? Just an old friend whom I haven’t seen in ages. I know she would love to see you.”

“An old friend?” He knew when his mother was holding out on him.

“Yes, my dear friend Lady Catherine Effington. You remember her? She used to visit more frequently before Lord Effington’s mother became so ill and they decided to stay in Durham.”

Aha—he knew exactly what his mother had in store for him now. “Yes, I recall the lady in question. I also seem to recall that she had a daughter exactly Beatrice’s age. Am I correct?”

Mother patted a hand to her perfectly coiffed hair. “Yes, you are correct.”

“Splendid!”

Her eyes widened with surprise before a relieved grin broke out on her face. “Splendid? I’m so glad you feel that way.”

“Yes, of course. Why would I not? I’m thrilled that Beatrice may have a little friend while she is in town.”

“Beatrice?”

One would think he had said King George. Richard tried not to laugh as confusion clouded her gray eyes. Nodding sagely, he said, “Children do need playmates, after all.”

“Playmates?” Mother echoed with a scowl. Raising her left eyebrow—never a good sign—she changed tactics. “Richard Edmund Alistair Moore, Charity is no more a child than you are. She is a perfectly lovely, accomplished young woman, and it would please me very much if you would grace us with your illustrious presence for a short while.”

Richard chuckled. It amused him that he could still get the “Richard Edmund Alistair Moore” treatment from her. Not that it could make him do anything that he truly was opposed to, of course. But in this case, the Effingtons were indeed old friends, and he didn’t mind saying hello. “When you put it that way, how could I say no? Lead the way, madam.”

“Do be nice, dear. I would hate for Charity to think you boorish.”

He snorted; yes, what a travesty that would be. He held his tongue, however, as they rounded the corner and entered the gold and cream drawing room.

Releasing his arm, his mother smiled. “Look who I found wandering the hallways.”

“Ladies,” he intoned, his attention directed at Lady Effington as she rose from the settee and came toward him with her arms outstretched.

“Richard! My, how you have grown.” She grasped Richard’s hand and squeezed. “I have to admit, in my mind you are a perpetual child of fifteen.”

He grinned at the sweet older woman, who had gained at least two stone since the last time he had seen her. There was no mistaking her broad grin and unfashionable red hair. He raised her hand to his lips for a perfunctory kiss. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Effington. What brings you to Town after all this time?”

The viscountess nodded toward the sofa nearest the windows. “Why, my Charity’s first Season, of course.”

Richard followed her gaze, and his eyes widened in surprise as the young lady in question rose and glided toward them. She looked almost nothing like the slim wisp of a girl he remembered from the past. Her dark auburn locks were arranged artfully in a rather becoming style, and, though still slender, she had grown into some surprisingly womanly curves.

She greeted him with a genuine smile, flashing straight teeth. “Lord Raleigh, it has been an age. I’m so happy to see you again.”

He bowed slightly. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Effington. Won’t you and Lady Effington sit down?”

“Actually,” his mother said, sending Richard a pleased look, “Charity was just about to play a set on the pianoforte. Richard, why don’t you turn the pages? And really, we are all friends here. Charity, of course you may call Richard by his given name, just as you did as children.”

Richard coughed to cover his surprise at this announcement. Mother certainly wasted no time. Miss Effington may be quite the lovely girl, but at the moment, all he could think about was how her perfectly fine, lightly freckled skin was no comparison to Jane’s flawless complexion. Smiling graciously, he swept his hand in the direction of the instrument. “After you, Miss Effington.”

She smiled wryly at him. “If I am to call you Richard, you really must call me Charity. Your mother is right—we have known each other since childhood.”

She had an unassuming, pleasant quality about her that he found quite refreshing. So many of the
ton
, particularly those with a titled father, tended to be rather lofty and full of themselves.

She slid onto the bench and lifted the cover from the keys. “Any requests?” she asked, nodding toward the basket of collected works resting on top of the small table nearby.

He flipped through the various pieces before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Surprise me. I have woefully little knowledge of music, and really couldn’t tell you what any of these actually sound like.”

Charity smiled and leaned toward him conspiratorially. “All of these are rather dull, if you ask me. Would you be terribly upset if you pretended to turn pages while I played one of my own compositions?”

“Upset? That sounds brilliant,” he exclaimed, grabbing a dummy piece of music from the basket and putting it in place with a flourish. “Don’t forget to nod at me at appropriate intervals.”

She winked and started in on the keys, pounding out a high-spirited musical romp that had his foot tapping. She played better than anyone he knew, and his mind wandered to for whom she might be a good match. If he remembered correctly, Evan—Lord Evansleigh—was a true music lover. Perhaps he should introduce them.

He flipped the page and stilled, suddenly realizing what he was doing. Dear Lord, was he actually
matchmaking
? Gads, that would never do. Any other time he would have taken the opportunity to covertly appreciate the lady’s figure or engage in a little harmless flirting. He would never truly dally with a debutante—they were practically babies, after all—but it was all in good fun to have a few winks and smiles here and there.

Charity nodded to him, and he flipped the page. Alas, he hadn’t the slightest attraction to the perfectly lovely girl beside him. Perhaps his lack of interest had something to do with the fact that the last time he saw her, she was still half his height, her ginger hair in braids, and her cheeks full of freckles.

When the piece ended, he clapped along with the others. Charity stood and gave a small curtsy, grinning brightly to her audience. Richard glanced at his mother and gave a little inward groan. She looked exactly like the cat that got the canary. She exchanged a pleased look with Lady Effington, and he knew it was time to make good his retreat.

“That was truly delightful, Charity. I am so glad I had the opportunity to hear you play.”

“Thank you, Richard,” she replied. Lowering her voice, she added, “And I very much appreciate your going along with my ploy. My mother thinks it common of me to want to write my own music instead of playing the works of masters. It does get rather tedious to ride the coattails of these men, though, when all I really want to do is play from the heart.”

“With talent such as yours, it is little wonder you wish to play your own work.” He leaned forward slightly and winked. “Your secret is safe with me.”

As he strode toward his mother, his thoughts were on another talented lady, one who created culinary poetry from completely ordinary ingredients. He glanced back at Charity, who lovingly eyed the exquisitely crafted mahogany of the pianoforte. A true artist loved nothing more than that which could improve upon her talent.

An idea came to him, lifting his lips in a slight smile. A gift—one so unusual, so personal, it was bound to raise a few eyebrows if anyone knew about it. But if it brought the sort of joy for the recipient that he suspected it would, it would be well worth the giving.

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Jane,

Don’t be overly embarrassed if the heat of a blush accompanies the arrival of your suitor. Think of it as a subtle hint that your heart is engaged, without having to use words to say as much. After all, a gentleman likes to think his chosen lady is affected by his presence.

Now, the whole point of courting is to give a couple the opportunity to become familiar with each other. However, my dear, you must remember that there are limits as to how familiar one can become at this stage.

For example, a gentleman may request to use your given name at some point in the courtship. This is a privilege not to be given lightly. Much like tasting one’s first biscuit, being granted such liberties may encourage him to try for more. It is the “more” that we must worry about. For this reason, this sort of familiarity is best saved for when the topic of betrothal has been favorably broached. Could you imagine the embarrassment if you were to have a former beau greet you in public by your first name? One shudders to think.

“Are you absolutely certain you will be all right?”

Jane started, dropping the letter she’d been reading and looking to the door. “Emerson, for heaven’s sake, I have survived without you for years—I do believe I can handle the afternoon.”

Stashing the letter in a drawer, she stood and brushed past him out into the parlor. Her brother stood tapping his foot, anxious to be on their way. Sunlight poured through the open curtains, warming the small space and, sister-cum-mother that she was, it made her feel better that they would have nice weather for the excursion to the wharf.

“I know you’re capable, Janey,” her cousin said with a roll of his eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable being here alone with Lord Fancy Pants with naught but his sister for protection.”

Comfortable? Not in the least. Lord Raleigh made her feel a lot of things, but comfortable never seemed to be one of them. Offering Emerson as bland an expression as she could manage, she shrugged. “I don’t mind. And really, they don’t have to know you’re not here.”

Emerson saluted. “Aye, captain.” He patted Weston’s thin shoulder hard enough to propel him forward. “Off with us, lad. The sea—or at least the brackish muck that is the Thames—awaits.”

Her brother grinned and bent to retrieve a small satchel before heading out the door. Jane sighed. Apparently she didn’t warrant a farewell anymore. Emerson started after him and paused, his beefy hand on the doorjamb. “Did you know, Janey,” he said, his tone conversational while his clear green eyes sparkled with mischief, “that your ears turn red as raspberries whenever I mention his lordship?”

Her hands flew straight to her ears—how mortifying! His laughter bounced around the small room, full of merriment and male smugness.

“That’s what I thought.” With an all-too-knowing wink, he disappeared down the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him.

She dropped her hands and did something she hadn’t done in years: She stuck her tongue out at the door. The wretched man—how dare he tease her like that? And if her ears weren’t hot before, they certainly were now. What was it Mama’s letter had said about blushing?

Jane blew out a breath and ran a calming hand down her front. Her heart wasn’t engaged, for heaven’s sake. She was simply nervous about her next lesson—one that she’d best get down to the kitchen for in order to begin preparations. She’d decided to forgo any recipes involving yeast, since the thought of sitting around trying to make conversation for an hour made her break out in a cold sweat. She needed something to
do
during their lessons—something to occupy her mind and her hands so she didn’t have enough time to become ensnared in the molasses of Lord Raleigh’s teasing gaze.

An hour later, as she stood across from Lord Raleigh at her worktable and prepared to discuss her plans for today’s lesson, she realized how futile that thought would be. Those enchanting blue eyes of his would
always
ensnare her, no matter how much was on her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking helplessly to Lady Beatrice. “What was I saying?”

“You were about to tell us what recipe we would be making today.” Her eyes were not unkind, but they were questioning. Two minutes into the lesson and already Jane was becoming flustered. It wasn’t entirely her fault—truly, did he have to wear the silver blue waistcoat that perfectly matched his eyes? And, of course, since his jacket was hanging from the hook on the wall and he hadn’t yet donned his apron, she had a totally unobstructed view.

“Right. The recipe. For this week, we’ll be making a nice tea biscuit.”

Raleigh paused in the process of rolling up his sleeves. “Tea biscuits? You tease us with the glorious promise of chocolate biscuits last week, only to dash our hopes at the last second? How casually you break a man’s heart, Miss Bunting.”

She tried—unsuccessfully—to keep the grin from her lips. Why was it he had such a talent for making her smile? He also knew how to make her want to play along. “If you like,” Jane said with complete nonchalance, “I can pull out the chocolate and we can do that recipe instead. I just thought you might prefer a recipe that didn’t involve a grater.”

Lady Beatrice immediately exhaled. “Oh yes,
please
.”

The earl offered one of those slow, toe-curling smiles. “Well, then, a gentleman always defers to the ladies.”

The slightest bit of mischief took root within her, and Jane grinned. “The recipes are not so very different, my lord. Lady Beatrice can make the tea biscuits, and you the chocolate. I wouldn’t want to deny you your weeklong desire, after all.”

Something entirely different and not the least bit teasing flashed hot in his gaze. When he spoke, it was with a tone that slid over her like smoke. “Very good to know. However,” he said, his tone lightening perceptively, “I think it best we avoid any utensils that can double as finger-shredders, and carry on with the tea biscuits. I’m still recovering from my battle wounds of last week.”